The Tale of the Bard
by GreenWood Elf
Summary: A mysterious band of wanderers prowl the borders of Lorien. When fable and fact combine as one, Haldir is forced to confront his past and the dangerous elleth that haunts it.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Hello again! I happen to be in the middle of a tremendous case of writer's block where my story "Meeting the March Warden" is concerned. I profusely apologize to all my readers for my lack of updates. I've written this short story in hopes that it may freshen my mind besides giving me a chance to play with a character I've been developing for quite some time. This fic will not be long, with only a second chapter added to it. I greatly appreciate any feedback and constructive criticism! A special thanks to my wonderful beta Dragonfly32 who has been so patient throughout my writer's block. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Tolkien's work. Lady Amanthoniel and her companions alone are mine.

**The Tale of the Bard**

**Part One Fire and Music**

Legends are a queer thing. The mythical, the folklore, whispered around a hushed hearth that glows with the final dying embers is a tradition that spans the length of races. Like an ever flowing river, that passes through kin and kind that weaves itself into the very ageless fabric of time. A strong thread, graced by the wizened hands of generations that touch upon the tapestry of tale, of fantastic lore that poisons the idle ear is not just attributed to the race of men. Even the mighty elves, the firstborn, the beloved of Iluvatar hold court in the deep hours of the night, when the world is but ash and shadow as the veil of stars flicker above. It is then, in their soft spoken tongues, those bardic stories, the hallowed songs of minstrels reign as normalcy takes leave and fancy takes flight.

But what is becoming of legend? How are those enigmatic tales begun? There are those that earn such a lofty status through gallant deeds and heroic claims. Of feats that shake the Earth that cull the very raging waters of the oceans that bring mountains trembling to the dust, staining the pure soil. And then there are those, those peculiar creatures that rarely chance upon the land. Their worth is not proven nor is their might. But in their odd and sometimes frightening glory they are simply born into myth.

* * *

It was a quiet breezy night on the borders of Lorien, as it oft was in the summer months. When the well sculpted branches of the mellyrn shook, their leaves rang like silver bells pressed by a gale wind. The remnants of a late afternoon storm had of late passed by, baptizing the sky a dark blue, as the first stars began to twinkle amongst such celestial beauty. The moon was a curvy crescent, like an ivory tusk thrust into a silken curtain as hazy ships of remaining clouds bobbed slowly across the heavens. The air was perfumed with the sweet incense of wild flowers that floated like thick gray smoke through the woodland.

The most seasoned guard was hard put to stay fast to his duties. Many had become bewitched by the soothing air and the daydreams that plagued their most fertile minds. The Summer Solstice festival was a mere week away, a happy occasion for the residents of the Golden Wood, especially the young guards who thought of spending their time in the company of a much admired elleth.

The March Warden alone was attentive at his post, his mighty shoulders succumbing to the weight of a sigh as he gazed out at his soldiers. Many dangled their legs off the edges of their flets. Others leaned against the trunks of the mellyrn, fair faces creased with wistful thoughts. It was quite a shrill annoyance to him, the lack of care they had for their duties irked every nerve in his being. He well understood however, their careless attitude but of course did not approve. Haldir had long enjoyed the celebrations of the Summer Festival but he did not in anyway lax his mind whilst on the borders. If he had, he may not be where he was today, Captain of the guard.

Haldir forced himself to remain calm, even though he felt the terrible wrath of his fury grate upon his mind. The borders were quiet and if ever a disaster should occur, he knew he could count on his soldiers. They were the best, after all, those who had studied under the great masters like himself. Just as he didn't doubt his abilities neither did he question theirs.

The evening air brushed gently against his warm cheeks, carrying that sweet incense that flowed so swiftly in the veins of the guards. Shifting the hilt of his sword uncomfortably he leaned on the railing of his flet. The forest floor below was silent, shafts of silver moonlight breaking through those runaway clouds and painting the earth. A feeling of peace had settled itself quietly over Lorien. The threat of an orc attack seemed like an outlandish menace, even to the ever prepared Warden.

But still his heart leapt and his breathing quickened as he heard the soft sounds of footsteps landing upon the wooden platform. Wheeling around he caught sight of Orophin, his younger brother, making his way towards him with a serene smile.

"Mae govannen, brother," he said, his brow clear and pale in the dim light. "A singularly beautiful eve is it not?"

"Aye, a truer word has never past your lips," Haldir nodded his golden head, greeting him in return.

"Elbereth blesses us bountifully indeed, think you not?"

"Indeed," the March Warden let his eyes travel briefly up to the skies, dazzled by the simple brilliance of the stars. "Tell me brother, I heard great peals of laughter ring from your flet not an hour ago. What causes such mirth?"

"Many things," and he laughed now, coming to stand beside his older sibling. "Rumil once more indulges his comical instincts. We set about to telling tales, rather far-fetched I think though."

"So it seems," a more forceful breeze rushed through the forest, the air suddenly becoming thinner. "And what was the sport in such stories? I would think you would hasten to share it with me."

"If your manner was but lighter," Orophin jested quietly and Haldir let a small smile form on his face. "I doubt you would find much humor in them."

"When was the last time you tested my wit?" the March Warden turned his eyes towards the elf, their sapphire depths glittering with jollity.

"Very well, very well brother, I shall elaborate if you wish," Orophin's face grew thoughtful for a time and then at length he began. "We spoke on numerous things, most were tales we heard passed along by men traders that move by the borders from time to time. Some were of specter maidens that charm young unsuspecting lovers and then lead them to their doom. Others were of strange beasts that change shape and can speak the tongues of men, elves and dwarves. I see you are not amused?"

"Not presently," Haldir said truthfully as another breeze, a bit more violent than its predecessor tore at his locks.

"Shall I continue then?" Orophin arched his delicate brows.

"Yes, speak, dear bard," Haldir allowed himself this little joke. It was well known that Rumil was the better storyteller of the three brothers, a trait inherited from his father.

"As you command, March Warden," Orophin returned heartily, a well placed grin framing his countenance. But suddenly his face darkened considerably, like a shadow falling across the moon.

"What is it?" concern rose swiftly within Haldir.

"A strange thing," the elf's voice was soft so that even he had to strain to hear him. "Rumil regaled us with a queer tale, a bit frightful, in truth."

"What manner of tale?" Haldir straightened. It was not often that a mere story would trouble his brother, especially one taken for falsehood.

"He said it was relayed to him by one of those eccentric tradesmen upon the borders not long past. The old man spoke in all seriousness as did Rumil. It was a curious tale, like I have never heard before. It was of phantom riders, or at least that is how he termed them. They ride from place to place, wanderers they are of a fearsome kind. Their ways are mysterious and it is thought that they be some sort of renegade rangers, though little more is known. Thus they are called phantoms. Few have seen them, but many of heard them."

"What mean you?" Haldir was slowly tiring of these riddles, his patience beginning to slip. The legend of the phantom riders was not a new one, a story unfortunately he knew well, though he despised the very knowledge of it.

"Well," Orophin's eyes flicked about in a nervous way. "It is said that they bring with them the most wondrous and terrible music that possesses the mind."

"Preposterous!" Haldir scoffed, while his insides shuddered dangerously.

"Haldir, the tradesman said they were only several leagues from the forest," Orophin was looking at him, eyes earnest with hidden fear.

"You believe this folly, Orophin?" the March Warden could not help but be surprised. Orophin, though not as disbelieving as him, still took everything in measure and reason. Though perhaps he sensed the truth of it…the little that there was.

"Not readily, but…"he didn't finish for the wind grew stronger and swept angrily through the trees. The blast was quick and sudden, yet most frightening was the sound carried on it. A low grumble, almost like thunder, like the heightened rattling of bones struck itself through the once peaceful air.

"Ai, Elbereth!" Orophin invoked the name he had just praised.

"Hush!" Haldir muttered tersely. The guards in the nearby flets shifted and stood, their tranquil faces now tense and drawn. The wind had stilled now, as quickly as it had started up, preying on the Golden Wood like a vicious wolf of winter. That thunderous sound began again, this time not aided by any earthly force. It was growing in volume and intensity, slowly but enough to be recognized clearly.

It seemed like a low growl almost and then like hoof beats echoing in the stony silence.

"Drums," an elf close by mused aloud as others nodded in agreement. Haldir wasted no time and grabbed upon the branches hanging above, hoisting his body up to the higher boughs of the tree. Pushing his head past the leafy canopy he strained both his eyes and ears to the horizon. His heart leapt wildly and dueled with the merciless throbbing that pierced the air like a rogue arrow. The dark horizon was licked by a vast glow, like red tongues lapping up the serene ebony. Fire. Scrambling down the way he came, the March Warden landed with a muted thud next to Orophin once more.

"What have you seen?" his brother's voice was raised, pushing against the noise that had grown till it was almost tumultuous in quality.

"We must move at once," Haldir reached for his bow and quiver. "There is fire in the west." The guards who were now speaking anxiously amongst themselves seemed drawn into the strange fear that up until now Orophin had only been prone to. The stories had surely spread quickly.

"Phantom riders!" Rumil exclaimed from somewhere in darkness. Many of the guards gasped and the muttering grew all the more fierce like the incessant hum of bees amongst a meadow of flowers.

"Silence!" Haldir called, though he could barely contend with the music now. Music, he realized with a harsh awareness. Yes, it was music as Orophin had said and fiendish music at that. "There is some manner of wild fire rushing across the west," he kept his tones calm as though they were merely going on a light scouting expedition though in truth he knew not what they would find. "We must move along the borders to investigate. One party will remain here and the other will follow me. Proceed with caution, for the cause of this blaze is not entirely known."

With swift commands he then called forth a large group of elves, still leaving back a significant number to protect the borders. And if any peril should reach them, help would always come from the other elves situated in the different areas of the forest. He took his brothers with him, for he did not wish to leave them behind to further excite the imaginations of the others.

The music was like a demon child now, skipping to and fro amongst what undoubtedly was a bed of ash and flame. Giving a final curt order, they set off, disappearing into the black trees, enveloped by the terrifying music.

* * *

The night seemed to waste away in the terrible hold of the music that now ripped through the horizon as the guards moved along the western borders. Through the protective sprawl of the trees only a frightening bit of the fire's glow seeped past, the warmth painting their pale faces. That sickly orange light began to grow however, as the reached a meadow where the forest ended and the lush grassy land spread towards the horizon.

Haldir stopped their journey, his eyes glancing past the worried faces of his guards as he thought. The violence of those trembling drums reverberated in his aching ears.

"Rumil!" he beckoned his youngest sibling closer. The haggard looking elf drew near, his eyes lined with a nameless worry. "Is what Orophin said true? Did the old fool of a tradesman tell you that these," he paused for a moment before breathing the word with skepticism, "these phantom riders were near?"

"Aye, brother, I wish my knowledge was false," Rumil shook his head grimly. "The tradesman said they had been seen amongst the shadows, passing through the lands of Rohan near two weeks past."

"It is but folly!" Haldir eyed the young elf closely.

"I hope and pray to Elbereth that it is so," Rumil lowered his tones once more. "But Haldir, recall only a month ago, the village that claimed to have been ransacked by a frightening troupe of marauders."

"They were wild men," the March Warden replied firmly.

"No," Rumil answered with equal sternness.

"There is no truth in phantom riders," Haldir growled down at his brother a bit more harshly than he intended. "The dried grass has caught flame and that is all."

"The music!" Rumil cried incredulously.

"It is but the wind. Now go, fan out the guards so they surround the area."

"I thought you said…."

"We cannot afford such a chance," Haldir allowed grudgingly, waving Rumil away.

The soldiers were quickly directed to their posts and soon moved as one through the brush, closer to the meadow. Haldir tried his best to ignore that nagging feeling of apprehension that was beginning to cloud his mind. It could not be them, no even they would not tempt him. He fingered the hilt of his sword, resting his hand ever so slightly upon it. The brush was clearing, that curious sound masked as music was dying away. It was just the roar of the fire, Haldir sighed, feeling an unwanted wave of relief sweep over him. He had been foolish to even think that….The thought had barely formed in his mind when he heard it.

Rising above the chaotic strains of melody there came a voice. It was at first a wretched sound, like a shriek that works its way out of a dying body. Yet it quickly settled and formed into some sort of garbled pattern. It rose and fell, constricted by a wildness of tone that had never been heard to the elves. Now it seemed to chant with a grand ferocity that matched even a tempestuous wind.

His very soul seemed to flee his being. Oh, how he recognized that voice! It was torturous device, one that had plagued him for centuries in the darker places that his dreams floated to. But here it was again with all that undue madness it was keen on displeasing. Haldir felt the brief fear that filled him melt and turn to the bitterness of rage. How dare they! Reaching forward he pushed back the last sinewy limb of a sapling and came face to face what he had so dreaded and at the same time hoped for.

A roaring fire was indeed the center of festivities; He could see the branches sticking out at odd angles, like thin arms trying to escape the blaze that was devouring them. A group of horses was tethered nearby. He caught sight of the brown one. The beast shook its head, the bridle jingling, many tassels and ornaments hanging from the well worn leather. Gazing at the animal was like a living nightmare, the hollow beat of its hooves had long haunted his dreams.

The other elves were emerging about him, their faces cast with awe as the unearthly glow of the fire bathed all in harsh crimson light. Haldir smiled sourly, his hand now fastened upon his blade. The sheer audacity near blinded him with rage. But then again, she was always one for brashness. In truth he expected nothing less from her.

Around the fire in a heathen ring they were dancing, he could see their chain mail glittering like jewels. She was always partial to mail, he reminded himself bitterly, she never fully took to plate armor. At first sight they would appear to be wild men, for their howls and screams surely echoed the ferociousness of such feral creatures. But no, these were soldiers, men soldiers. Their countenances were roughened, weathered by the cruel winds, though they remained clean-shaven. Broad-swords were strapped to their hips, clashing with the deep green of their quilted jerkins. Like the tender color of forest moss, wet with dew on a spring morn, those were her long lost words.

The men were dancing, long hair streaming back before the roar of the fire. Their mouths agape like hungry wolves, tongues parched and thirsting for air as they sang. The music had once more picked up. It was loud, near deafening, Haldir wrestled with the urge of stopping his ears. He refused to give that pleasure, the knowledge that she had wounded him. With a last glance to his guards he ordered them to halt and as one they crouched down in the grass, waiting and watching for the signal.

The March Warden would not attack until he had seen her. No, he couldn't crush her forces until he looked upon that face. He wondered if it had changed, if grief and time had worn down the very loveliness he had once adored. A long moment passed, those wicked soldiers continuing their dance, unaware of the presence of the Galadhrim. Then she came, in all the glory and magnificence she was known for. She was always one for a show, a display of prowess.

Yet a gasp caught in his dry throat as she ascended a smooth rock, overhanging the meadow of the campfire. That voice remained in his memory but not the features. Such a fearsome toll she had paid! One would never guess she was an elf. Though perhaps, she tried to hide it. Her face was a mere ruin of what it once was, a long jagged scar, tearing across her pale brow and across her lips. Someone had indeed glanced their blade off her with the pure intention of hate and mutilation. She was horrid to look at, her blue eyes now sunken, but still blazing with a sickly rage that would forever poison her. Those once rosy cheeks now thin and drawn, making her face skull-like. And her hair! It was no longer the sheet of silver he had stroked so lovingly, but a mass of mats and tangles, splotched with a sort of red dye in many places.

She wore the same quilted jerkin as her fellows, that silver chain mail she had always prized. Her voice was still the same, she was ever the bard, the minstrel she had aspired to be, though her war-like tendencies won over. And now she continued to shriek, making the very hairs on the back of his neck stand straight and a chill cascade down his spine. She called to her pantomime companions and they laughed at some cruel jest that could only come from her lips. Haldir dropped his eyes, he could no longer face the horror that stood before him, the destroyed elf that was a shadow of her true being. It would be better to finish it now, to be done with the years of torment that had laid waste to both their souls.

Raising his hand swiftly, the company of guards gained their feet and with a silent flourish unsheathed their blades. Stifling the groan that was forming in the pit of his heart, Haldir dropped his hand and heard them charge forward to apprehend the intruders as was practiced. Only the Lady of Lorien was fit to judge them.

But the elleth was quite a cunning little creature, too sly and manipulative for her own good. She was impulsive, not foolish. Haldir could never surprise her. With a fluid motion she leapt from her perch on the rock, her hand reaching for her sword. The soldiers by the fireside too wheeled around, blades flashing in the horrid light of the flames. And from amongst the brush they came, at least two dozen men, most with deadly crossbows aimed at the elves of the forest. The March Warden himself felt the icy touch of an arrow being pushed against the nape of his neck. Curse her! She was, unfortunately, much better at playing false and using trickery than him.

"Drop your weapons!" she called gaily, as if this were a seemingly normal request, a smile making that scar lengthen on her face. The guards looked quickly to their Captain. It was not everyday that a party of men managed to best them in their own forest.

"Do as she says," his words sounded out through clenched teeth. The metallic clang of swords being dropped echoed through the glade. Haldir felt himself being ushered forward by the men behind him. The elves were likewise schooled together, their numbers a mere handful compared to the men. It was a fight they could not win, especially with her present.

"Well, even I surprise myself," she sauntered forward, her eyes crescent shaped like the moon above as mirth invaded her features. "Never did I think to overtake a force of Galadhrim on the borders of Lothlorien."

"Your men are well trained," Haldir allowed, wanting to placate her in anyway possible. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his brothers, a look of certain shock registering on their faces as they recognized the elleth that held them captive.

"Ah, but you should have expected them to be, Captain," she gave him an appraising sort of glare. "You have not changed a bit."

"It is unfortunate I cannot say likewise," Haldir forced his head up to look fully at her.

"You were never free with your compliments," she remarked sharply. "But I will admit that I have changed. You could not have expected me to stay the same."

"Your companions have been rather bold these days," he forced a bitter laugh. "Still playing the part of the minstrel are we?"

"We like to draw attention ourselves," the elleth smirked malignantly. "But let me at least introduce myself to those of your guard who do not recall me. I see your brothers do. I am Lady Amanthoniel. Not of noble birth by any right but simply a lady because, well I have a rather high opinion of myself. And you Haldir," in a few quick strides she was by his side. "Meleth nin."

Mae govannen: well met

Elleth: female elf

Meleth nin: my love

**Author's Note: **So what do you think? Please let me know. Thanks for reading!


	2. Part Two The Bard's Brigands

**Author's Note: **Hello again and welcome to chapter two! Sorry it took so long to update, I've had this chapter trapped on my computer for a month, my laptop picking this time to break down of course. There will be a third chapter to this story and then depending on my ideas, I might start a second short fic with the same characters. Also Amanthoniel is getting a name change, but because it is trapped on my other computer, that will have to wait. Special thanks to my wonderful reviewers for their encouragement. And to The Lady of Light, yes, my "was" habit just became evident with your review and the notice of my other beta. Thanks for the tips. I'm trying my best to strengthen my prose voice now. A huge thanks goes out to my beta Dragonfly32 who has been absolutely excellent. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Toklien's work. Lady Amanthoniel and her companions alone are mine.

**Part Two The Bard's Brigands**

Haldir lurched forward, paying little heed to the men clustered around him, their weapons suddenly thrust in his flushed face.

"How dare you?" he could not control his anger, her very words incensed him. "How dare you call me your lover?"

"It is my right, is it not?" her eyes too blazed but her voice remained calm. "Did you not pledge your heart to mine?"

"Regrettably so," he spat.

"You are not proud of me then?" Lady Amanthoniel's face twisted further into a sardonic grin.

"For fleeing your home to form this little band of brigands?" the men around him muttered harshly.

"No, for doing what I aspired to," she gave a little prideful laugh. "I have become the most celebrated minstrel to ever strike a harp. My name has sounded over the land, reaching even the farthest corners of the wild."

"In your search for fame you find madness instead," Haldir twisted his arm locked in the surly grip of a particularly large man.

"Take care March Warden," she cajoled, flashing a dangerous smile in his direction. "I will not suffer you to be harmed…much." Amanthoniel let her last words fall like the beating of icy hail upon stone. The Galadhrim, who were crowded together like fair flowers amongst a thicket of briar, exchanged dark glances. Haldir forced himself to remain calm, pushing back those tempting thoughts of vengeance. But her mere smile, the bitter venom laced into her breathy tones drove him wild.

"Fool of a she-elf!" he threw off his captor as if he were shaking off droplets of rain. "What heights you would have risen too! Had you but stayed the impulsive emotions that ruled your heart!" His freedom felt brief, too brief for him to make any attempt at attack or escape. No less than five men pushed him down to his knees. Haldir shook his head, enjoying the rage that suffused her pale cheeks. The fires crackled loudly nearby, the branches snapping and hissing as embers cast themselves into the air. Yet when she spoke her voice echoed with a deadly calm, similar to the kind which borders a violent thunderstorm.

"Did my leave-taking pain you so much?" she asked, leaning forward as her hot breath spilled across his cheeks. "Or is it the truth that I became something much more than you ever could, a minstrel."

"Minstrel, ha!" he spat the words back at her. "You are less of a minstrel and more of a mad, ransacking murderer."

"Idle words born of the stories spread by the tradesmen poison your mind, Captain," her eyes glowed in the darkness, lit from within by that tempestuous rage she always embraced. Those two blue-gray orbs were like a summer sky that is thick with haze in the afternoon, or perhaps like the pale blue that fills the heavens as the sun makes its hasty descent into the abyss beyond the horizon. At times they appeared languid, hooded by dark lids that clasped over the white edges. But in those times of anger, they flashed with unknown malice, a very threat in their own right.

"Haldir, my dear Haldir," she spoke softly and patiently, every syllable weighed down by condescension. "Surely you know of the places betwixt, when myth and truth blur together as one. It is thus, do we exist somewhere amongst the gray."

"Insanity clouds what little reason you ever possessed," his knees were beginning to ache as they were pressed into the dirt, the men not daring to loosen their grip upon him again.

Amanthoniel stared blankly at him for a moment broken by a fit of passion, such that she had always been prone to in her earlier days. With a cruelly twisted laugh she leapt upon the overhanging rock once more, casting her arms up in the air, her hair streaming back.

"It is a night for music!" she shouted, her voice trembling with great fervor. "A night for fires! And a night for tales!" The men below hooted and howled, stamping their feet and making such a noise that they appeared to be more beast-like than the horses that shifted nervously nearby. When all this died down, the Lady leaned forward, giving herself the same air a goddess might when she descends from her throne to confer with mere mortals. Haldir heard his companions moving anxiously besides him and silently he prayed that the guards still within the wood heard the commotion and would fly to their aid.

"March Warden, I bid you speak!" she pointed at him, a long, thin finger piercing the silky air stained with smoke and flame. "Though I confess, I believe you less well versed than I hoped I still wish to hear the tale from your lips before the truth passes mine."

One of the branches snapped, its will finally bending to that of the fire. Ash and sparks flew past his face as he gazed at her. He needed to buy time. If the rest of the Galadhrim were indeed on their way he would distract Amanthoniel and her band. It remained the only way. Haldir chanced a quick glance at his brothers, one eye sliding to where they stood restrained by the fatal looking crossbows aimed steadily at them. The crazed elleth sat still on her perch, her hunched shoulders giving her the appearance of a great bird of prey.

"Very well," Haldir flicked his tongue over his parched lips. "I will tell the story, as I know it best." A pause held the air captive. He searched for words, any words suitable for such a beginning. The men watched him intently, obviously interested in what he purposed to say. At length, he began.

"It happened many years past. In my youth, a member of the guard for only three decades. Even then my talent shone through. But I had a good teacher," here he let his gaze float back up to her though her features remained stony. "She too was young, barely my senior. Yet her knowledge in areas of war and military greatly surpassed mine. Years passed before I was considered her equal. We fought together, partners in battle and soon became partners in life. I loved her and I always thought that she too carried deepest affections for me."

Again he paused, searching her features. But she had long ago taken up the mask of indifference and now she hid her emotions with ease. Haldir strained his ears, listening for any noise of what he prayed might be the approaching guards. Though if they indeed made full use of their abilities they should be impossible to detect, even to his trained hearing. His stomach turned uncomfortably as he remembered how easily the men ambushed them. With any luck these elves could outwit them.

"Go on!" Amanthoniel waved her hand in impatience. "You have relayed only half of the tale." The March Warden sifted his knees through the hard soil that bruised them.

"I loved her and as I have said, she appeared to feel for me in a similar fashion," Haldir continued slowly. "My lover, however, always possessed some disturbing qualities. At first they barely troubled my mind yet as the days wore on, it became more and more unbearable. I often wondered if she truly wished to be a soldier. She spoke on the ways of the minstrel time and again. Whenever one would come to the court of Lady Galadriel she delighted in performing with them. For she too had great talents, her tapered fingers seemingly better suited for the harp or lute rather than the sword or bow. Now she began to speak on leaving, of abandoning her life as a guard and taking to the roads and wilds as a minstrel. I became enraged at her flights of fancy. The thought that she would leave for such a simple, worthless thing near drove me to violence."

"Aye!" Amanthoniel expostulated harshly from her post, crouched down upon the rock. Haldir stuttered for a moment, they were coming to the dangerous part of the story. Seeing her display of rage before he wondered if this too would again drive her and her men into a frenzy. But he could do nothing now, he would continue.

"She became more and more drawn to the music and the fiercer ways of life," his voice felt dry in his throat as the terrible memories came flooding back. "I distrusted her and her impulsive tendencies. This led to many a heated argument between us. At the close of it all I told her I could no longer love her. We parted ways. Yet then, she indulged in a most barbaric habit. During the early summer months, when the sky was heavy with storms a small party of orcs assaulted Lorien. Rushing onto the field of battle, where steam and blood rose from the earth she slaughtered the foul beasts. This of course, is not what disturbed me most, but the music. As her blade cut through their wretched hides she sang and from her came the most foreign, most haunting music I ever heard. She seemed wild, aye wild, driven by some insane force that possessed her mind."

A brief wave of emotion threatened to silence his voice as he recalled the cool contempt in her eyes that now fully ruled her being. Collecting himself, Haldir went on haltingly.

"I rushed onto the field, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her roughly. I suppose I wished to cast out the demons that ravaged her thoughts. But she pushed me away, screaming and cursing. A battle ensued betwixt use on that blood-soaked field, our words and cries harsher than the rotten arrows of the orcs. Before the end of it, she told me that not a day would pass when her music would not haunt my mind and that, sadly has been true. She claimed I betrayed her and then hastened away, far away into the wild. I never saw her again, though the stories reached my ears. Are you satisfied now, Amanthoniel?"

"Aye," she nodded and he thought he saw a flash of sorrow pass over her face. But in the shifting shadows and dim moonlight he could not be sure and it faded, like the last rays of light that cling to the horizon before dark. She stood, the silver chain mail that encased her person rang like bells. "Your tale is but one of many," her voice now strangely hollow, devoid of the living fury that once cloaked it. "For I, I also have a tale. The weavers spin graciously the thread that courses through our lives, though at times it becomes tangled with another creating a web of pain and of lies."

Haldir suppressed a sigh. In some dim corner of his mind the light of hope had been burning that perhaps if she heard the story once more some sense would return to her. Amanthoniel paced smoothly on the stone, her booted feet scraping against the rock. And slowly that old smile curved along her lips and her mouth opened wide like a wolf prepared to devour the hare it had cornered.

"We await your song, my lady," a man's deep voice spoke up just outside the ring of fire. Amanthoniel's eyes shot up and a certain admiration seemed to penetrate those murky depths. The man stepped forward , allowing only a bit of his face to be bathed in the red glow of the flames. He had long hair that reached past his shoulders and down his spine. The color was dark but not entirely detectable in the gloom. His features looked drawn, small beady eyes hiding beneath his brow. Not at all amiable or handsome was he, though a sort of masculine majesty surrounded him. The Lady felt oblivious pleased by his sudden appearance and with an unknown sickening twist in his gut, Haldir guessed that this may be her human lover.

"I shall speak freely, dear one," she addressed him softly, her tone now taking on the quality of the wind when it plays through the trees so gently. The March Warden knew that tone, so often it passed his ears on happier occasions. A rustling, almost too quiet to be noticed shook the branches of the sapling behind them. With a great thrill of the spirit Haldir sensed his guards approaching. This joy however, was unexpectedly followed by a wretched pang of guilt. Amanthoniel would rather be slain than taken back to the city. Setting his jaw Haldir pushed away these feelings of regret. A casualty they could afford. And perhaps then, her cursed songs would no longer haunt his mind though deep down inside he had his own sinking doubts.

"Alas!" the elleth let one of her small arms drift upwards, the mail around it shimmering like a fallen star. "The moon above must soon bow to the reign of the sun, such a cruel tyrant is he to the lady that guards the night and his children while he slumbers. I must be brief, though it may be for the best." The elves besides Haldir noticed the movement in the trees as well. The eyes of the men were firmly fixed on their leader, so carefully the Galadhrim let their hands creep towards their fallen weapons. Haldir gazed longingly at his bow and quiver which were dragged out of the woods along with him. It was tantalizingly close, a mere yard or two from his fingertips. But still a risk. She would see his movement, she always did.

Quieting himself beneath the iron grasp of the men that held him captive, Haldir satisfied his racing mind with the thought that he would come out the victor, putting an end to this ancient battle of the wills that for so long existed betwixt them.

A long moment passed, Amanthoniel paced all the more frantically on the giant stone. Her brow creased as she murmured vaguely through a series of words to begin her tale.

"It was many years ago, that part I believe the elf has gotten right," her voice echoed through the air, a final stillness settling over the meadow. Then, they were ambushed. It came in a violent flurry, the Galadhrim leaping out from the protective close of the forest, like stampeding deer. They thundered over the meadow, the sweet moonlight glancing off their harsh weapons.

With a force unequal to the strength he displayed before Haldir threw off his captors and groped for his bow. Dimly, he heard the sound of their bodies hitting the ground and barrage of muffled curses trumpeted angrily at his back. But he had no thought, no simple wish save Amanthoniel. It was beyond the call of duty, every fiber of being bent on bringing her to justice.

Gazing up he quickly took in the chaotic scene before him. The Galadhrim were struggling to overcome the men who surprisingly took flight, bounding through the grasses. With final daring glances they looked back, sending a last volley of arrows sailing towards the elves with their crossbows. He saw the fierce man, the one who had addressed the lady, making all haste in reaching the horses. The others followed him, leaping swiftly onto their mounts as the guards drew near.

Haldir deftly nocked an arrow, the feathers rubbed against his sweaty palms, the wooden shaft brought a strange feeling a comfort. His eyes skipped around the campsite and landed back on the rock. To his utter shock he found that she had not left her perch but rather remained standing there, looking almost amused. Their gazes locked, the time brief yet it lingered on, bewitching his senses for that painful instant.

"Clever," her lips slow to form the words. "Victory belongs to neither then. It is well. Alas, I depart with my company!" And as she murmured the last few phrases Haldir pulled taut the bowstring, though his fingers trembled ever so slightly. She smiled once more, a knowing smile rich with all her brash arrogance. Bounding off the rock she dashed to her horse and Haldir released the arrow. The Galadhrim swarmed around him, all moving as one to pursue the men. Vaguely he felt Rumil and Orophin come to stand besides him, but they stayed their course and paused to watch. The Captain's eyes trained in on that single arrow as it coursed so gently through the night air, forming a graceful arc. It landed…a foot short.

Her demented cackle followed, that tangled mass of hair flowing back. She reached her horse and threw herself upon its back.

"Away! Away! We live to sing again!" was her last feverish cry as the party jolted forth, disappearing along the horizon. Haldir felt his bow slip from his hands, his brothers' heavy breathing echoing in his ears. They stood, left behind in the glow of the dying embers.

* * *

"Amanthoniel…she has indeed returned," the Lady Galadriel tested the words delicately in her mouth. But her brow remained smooth and her features light as she spoke as if not a care had fallen upon them.

"Forgive me, hiril nin," Haldir bowed deeply, ignoring the roaring headache that seeped into his temples. "I allowed the bandits to escape. The fault is entirely mine." Galadriel did not answer her Captain but instead continued to smile, eyeing him with barely concealed curiosity. The March Warden was quite a sorry sight the next morn, his face tense with exhaustion and warring emotions. The Galadhrim of course made chase after Amanthoniel and her band to no avail. Like true cowards they fled, leaving a slowly dying fire and nothing more. It was in the final hours of night, when the eastern sky was touched with those gentle colors of dawn that Haldir reluctantly called off the search and returned to Caras Galadhon.

He had been most eager to seek out his Lord and Lady. The weight of his actions or lack of action rather, laid heavy on his mind, though Celeborn and Galadriel were less than disturbed.

"It does no good to cast your mind to torment, Captain," Celeborn said solemnly from beside his wife. "Your thoughts should lie on other matters, I think."

"Aye, hir nin," Haldir suffered through another bow.

"Amanthoniel is a worthy opponent," Galadriel's blue eyes sparkled. "I do expect it of you Captain, to apprehend the elleth and her band and bring them to me."

"With all pardons, hiril nin, the lunatic will not suffer herself to be captured. Her blood will be spilt on the borders ere she enters your realm," he replied softly.

"Then tell her it is I, Lady Galadriel, who summons her," the Lady of Light said. "I daresay she will not deny me such a pleasure."

"Yes, hiril nin," Haldir straightened, feeling his joints creak with stiffness, especially his knees.

"Strange," Celeborn turned to his wife. "I had not expected her to return. The rumors suggest she plays well her part as the minstrel."

"A minstrel," his wife answered simply. "A most noble trade for one so gifted in the arts of music. You are dismissed Captain," she finished with a mild nod.

* * *

Haldir took his leave a bit more confused than before only to be accosted by his siblings, both bearing the tell-tale signs of a night spent in desperate plight and furious search. Their faces were stony, etched with a sort of sorrow that made Haldir's heart sink all the more.

"You told us she was dead," an accusation, Orophin meant it so.

"So I hoped," Haldir fumbled through his words, too weary to argue with them. After a night of sharpened wits, playing a game of deadly cat and mouse with that fiend of a she-elf he could not bear the prying questions of his own kin.

"You said she had perished on that battlefield," now Rumil's spoke, his face noticeably pale.

"A lie," the March Warden brushed past them quickly.

"The stories are true then, during all this time which you feigned innocence," Rumil remained persistent, following him down the long flight of stairs that led from the Lady's flet.

"A falsehood as well."

"The stories of the phantom riders, the tales of a strange band riding from village to village, haunting the wild with their music," Orophin picked up for his younger brother. "The wild maid that headed them, who cut down those who dared to tread upon her path and used their blood to dye her hair."

"Aye, those are the tales."

"You knew!" Rumil cried, nothing less than incredulous. "You knew and yet you did nothing!"

"I knew the maid went mad," Haldir spun around sharply, his face flushed with rage. "The stories followed and my knowledge was the same as yours. She rides from town to town or so the legends say. She spends her time in the wild otherwise and dances on hills bathed in the light from her fires. A fierce creature, not to be trusted or met with on the dark roads when the veil of night has fallen. This is my knowledge, tangled in legend as is yours. Berate me not for the evil of others, whatever it may be."

And with that he left his brothers, left them to stand lost in the terrible world of myth that was bound to ensnare them all.

Elleth: Female elf

Hiril nin: My lady

Hir nin: My lord


	3. Part Three The Close of the Tale

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to the last part of "The Tale of the Bard." The ending is much as the tale began, shaded by mystery with the remnants of truth barely clinging to it, the marvel that is myth. I know I said I was going to change the main character's name to a more proper elvish name, but I believe at this point it's foolish. I'd like to thank all my reviewers for their support and continual encouragement. And I'd also like to thank my wonderful beta Dragonfly32 for her help. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Tolkien's work. Lady Amanthoniel and her companions alone are mine.

**Part Three The Close of the Tale**

"It is imperative that we stay banded together and do not break rank. This wench of an elleth delights in chaos and discord. It should be her grandest wish to drive us asunder. Am I understood?"

Haldir's speech was met with somber nods and grim faces that bespoke the horrid task they were about to undertake. In all his years of service on the guard, the March Warden had never been ordered to flush out one of his kin like a mere woodland rabbit. Orcs were one thing, but Amanthoniel quite another. It was she that bestowed her lofty wisdom upon him in youth. A comrade in arms, well skilled and well fought. Seasoned veterans were often tricky to best and this fiend would strive to match him.

Then there happened to be the matter of Lady Galadriel's request. How could he capture such a crazed elf that swore her blood would be spilt before she entered Caras Galadhon? Again, no simple task, the very thought of it made his mind ache. After the tireless ruminations that a commander may often become accustomed to, he resolved to a primitive solution. They would strike as one, with all the precision and expertise that came from years of training and hope to capture the lady. That is if she did not escape first or indulge in some wicked sport of her own. Strangely, the notion of tying her up like a troublesome human felt as though he were invading on something sacred. The legends spoke of an invincible wild maid and now Haldir thought he scrawled hastily over them, like a child at play with fire. But Galadriel's order came first of course and if the Lady of Light herself approved such an action, he would take it.

The Captain paced decisively in front of the guards, taking care to sheath an extra short knife in his belt. The bright light of an afternoon summer sun stole across the forest, the warmth soothing his aching limbs and caressing his troubled thoughts. Amanthoniel did not seem half as intimidating in the day as she did creeping about a hissing fire at the midnight hour.

"Is everything in readiness?" The question seemed needless and he knew it. But the words spilled past his lips now, hovering in that tentative space between peace and violence.

"Aye, Captain," Rumil replied, somewhat stony faced.

"Good then." Haldir barely repressed a sigh. "Let us be off, heed my words."

The company departed, lithe bodies melting into the welcoming arms of the wooded land. An unwelcome shiver screamed up the March Warden's spine as he pushed delicately past the first tree branch. Finally, he would right an age old wrong.

* * *

The trees shivered frightfully about the elves as they stole through the forest. A storm from the west had cast itself upon the wind and now a drenching rain spat bitterly down upon them. The air was violently humid, a jagged bolt of lightening slashing across the murky gray sky. Haldir sighed, inhaling the scents of a late afternoon thunderstorm that racked the Golden Wood. The animals of the forest frantically searched for cover, whistling amongst the brush and bracket as a murderous rumble split the horizon.

The guard had started on their journey no less than three hours ago, wading through the greenery with weapons always at the ready. Not a sign of the errant elleth had been produced by their keen search and the March Warden began to force himself to face a dreaded possibility. Amanthoniel was gone, she had fled last night taking with her that rowdy band of brigands, galloping through the countryside till she reached her next victims. A certain sense of disappointment filled him, he had failed his mission. But even more troubling was knowing he would still have to suffer with the memories. Somehow he thought if he brought the elleth to justice those haunting echoes would cease, her curses fall silent. Yet now he faced the prospect of an eternity with her devilish minstrel work. The myth swallowed him whole, dragging him down further even though he fought valiantly against it.

He tried to remember the times he had loved Amanthoniel, when her sweetness out ruled brutality. Her eyes were often wide with delight and good humor then, not heavy with the stain of her massacres as they were now. Haldir squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, against the love that once existed and now died so utterly in his heart. He thought of the man by her side the night before. She had managed to find a love of her own, not impossible considering she was one of those avaricious characters that inspired such mischief. And he remained alone, so woefully alone with his memories.

Suddenly a hand encased his upper arm. Haldir started, spinning around till he came face to face with his Orophin.

"Listen." His brother raised a careful finger to his lips. The Captain complied, straining his ears to hear above the raging storm. The brief illumination that lightening brought filled the wood, the snaky arms of the trees silhouetted so horribly against the eerie glow. A cackle, a sadistic laugh rang through the tortured air. His heart lodged uncomfortably in his breast for a moment as he followed the sound. She was near, he could sense it.

This time they proceeded with more than undue caution, his guards spanning out to form a solid perimeter. Pushing past a willowy veil of brush Haldir gazed at the huddled mass of humans, the elleth perched on a fallen log at the fore. He had to admit that he expected better of her, to camp so out in the open like this it was almost if she wanted to be caught. Several of the men were nursing wounds inflicted by the elves the previous night. The Captain couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. They weren't invincible after all, even though the treacherous shades of night beguiled such. Their numbers also appeared fewer; some had undoubtedly dropped dead from wounds.

Unfortunately Amanthoniel looked none the worse for the wear, her face alight with devilish delight as she conversed with her dark-haired lover.

"Sigrun, my love," she breathed. "I say we have made out well, though I sorely wish Haldir had not escaped our grasp."

"Foul it is my lady," the man grumbled, "but fair that we live to ride once more."

"Aye." She smiled deviously. Haldir gazed quickly at Orophin who stood closest to him. His brother looked almost sorrowful as he waited for the command, bow taut with a feathered arrow. Raising his hand as rain trickled down his brow, the March Warden gave the signal. As one the guards leapt forth from their blind behind the trees. The men started but surprisingly did not try to flee. Arrows pierced the wet air, striking some dead on the spot. Others fought back bitterly, clinging to the hope of life and survival. Once more Haldir turned his thoughts to her and only her.

He raced to where she stood, expecting a cruel contest to bring her to capture. Haldir pushed her to the ground, pinning her beneath his weight which was substantially more than her own. She squirmed terribly, kicking at his legs till he grimaced. Around them the battle raged and she shrieked angrily. Grasping upon her wrists Haldir struggled to hold her still.

"Lady Galadriel," he grunted as one of her fists landed by his right eye, "sends her fond regards and wishes an audience with you, fiend!" To his utter surprise she ceased her battle and lay limp.

"Is that so?" She gazed up at him as though she were daft.

"Aye," Haldir panted, shocked by her reaction.

"Then I shall gladly obey," Amanthoniel replied softly, her eyes eerily calm. "We surrender!" she shouted and her men dropped their weapons, falling to their knees with arms raised. Haldir saw the surprised faces of his fellow guards. "You should have mentioned such in the first place." The elleth looked at him calmly.

* * *

The ungainly train of tethered men and cautious elves made its way slowly into the city of Caras Galadhon. Haldir stationed himself by Amanthoniel, expecting her to flee or try something rash at any moment. But she walked on steadfastly, hands secured with coarse rope till her arms bleed. She barely paid it any mind though, looking rather unfazed by her sudden downfall from power.

Haldir felt his skin prickle with an unknown fear. The battle he expected from such men and the wicked elleth seemed too easily won. They had simply given up, Amanthoniel complying with his wishes as if they were the best of companions and he had asked a small favor of her. Once more he studied her queer features, this time in the daylight. Something was noticeably missing; the wench appeared not half so frightful now. The mysticism of myth crept back into his mind. Could she truly be a murderous fiend that fancied herself a minstrel? Were her brigands really an unruly pack of murderers that danced to heathenish music in the moonlight? Where did the truth lie? Certainly not here.

He sighed raggedly, the royal flet looming into his view.

* * *

Lady Galadriel smile pleasantly as Amanthoniel stood before her and Lord Celeborn. Haldir prodded the elleth in the back forcing her forward before the Lady of Light. But Amanthoniel seemed not at all daunted in the presence of the Lady. She returned Galadriel's smile readily, while her companions remained fastened below on the forest floor under the steady watch of the Galadhrim.

"Amanthoniel," Galadriel spoke softly. "It is good to see you. How do you fare?"

"Well, my lady," the elleth shuffled through a bow of respect. Haldir stood in shock at this civil exchange.

"Time has passed I am afraid," Galadriel continued lightly. "I have heard the stories."

"Indeed my lady, I am honored that you have." Amanthoniel's smile widened.

"Such wicked tales they are, frightful to say the least."

"Is that not what you wished, hiril nin?"

"Of course, you have done quite well for yourself." Galadriel looked approvingly on the young elf who simply beamed in her presence. Haldir felt his body frozen with wonder. What now was this? How could the Lady act so passively towards such a villain? And after all the terrors she inspired in him! He ran a callused hand across his aching temples.

Galadriel gracefully removed herself from the sort of raised dais she stood upon, delicate fingers reaching out till she grasped some of Amanthoniel's tangled hair.

"But tell me, young one, you have not dyed your hair with blood as the rumors suggest." A slight frown now rested on the Lady of Light's countenance.

"Not at all," Amanthoniel laughed, a smooth, gentle laugh. "It is but wild berries. I did not think you would approve of blood, hiril nin."

"No, I would not have." Galadriel released her tresses. "And your men? How fare they?"

"Well, hiril nin, they are stout and skilled in weaponry." Here the elleth paused and her face grew sober. "But I am saddened to report that some have fallen to the March Warden's bow."

"A tragedy." The Lady looked swiftly towards him then returned her gaze to Amanthoniel.

"Both friends and foes fall in war," Lord Celeborn said, his calm voice echoing throughout the flet.

"Aye, hir nin," the wretched elleth replied, her face stained with sorrow. "It is fortunate that those most dear to me have survived, though I fear that some wounds run deep and remain unhealed." She glanced at Haldir, cruelty seeping back into her eyes.

"Hiril nin, this elleth has murdered countless innocents," he protested hotly. "She had no qualms last night of bringing myself and others to join them!"

"I understand your confusion, March Warden," Galadriel answered smoothly, "but I ask that your trust remain with me as it has for so many years past."

"I have done my duty as asked!" Amanthoniel cried suddenly, her face flushed with rage. "And yet my men and I are treated like dogs by this false ellon! Hiril nin, please, I beg for justice on my part!"

"Peace, lady," Galadriel soothed her. "March Warden Haldir still believes the myth, the myth you so skillfully created. That is why I asked him to fetch you, I knew you would not flee from my summons, you never have."

"Aye." The elleth appeared somewhat mollified though her breath came fast and her eyes blazed.

"Hiril nin, do you not see the lies that fall from her wicked tongue?" Haldir questioned incredulously.

"Silence, Captain," Celeborn interposed firmly.

"Forgive me then, hir nin." Haldir lapsed into anxious silence, every fiber of his being fighting against it. The hall seemed filled with a restless air, the storm still raging outside. Amanthoniel mopped at her wet face, arms still bound tightly before her. At length the Lady of Light spoke.

"Tell me minstrel," she said, her voice so soft it was barely heard over the storm's din, "tell me if you would honor us with a performance this eve at our Summer Festival?"

"Aye, hiril nin." Amanthoniel bowed her head in respect. "I could never refuse such a gracious offer, though I fear others may disapprove." Her eyes flew quickly back to Haldir, pausing for a moment as she searched his countenance.

"You never feared what others said of you before, Amanthoniel," Galadriel reminded her gently. "Why should it trouble you now?"

"No." The elleth shook her head, tangled curls falling oddly about her shoulders.

"Release your prisoners March Warden," Celeborn ordered sternly.

"Hir nin!"

"I would speak with you Haldir," Galadriel commanded lightly. "Your guards will release Amanthoniel's men."

Haldir could not speak, but forced himself to bow nobly. Lord Celeborn escorted Amanthoniel from the room and they both descended the winding staircase, her struggling to cut free her bonds. After a moment of cruel silence, Galadriel turned her eyes to her devoted Captain, taking in his measure as if she had just met him.

"I understand your confusion," she said at length. "It is a natural instinct. How could you not be confused by all the mischievous rumors that wander about? Rumors that speak of violent murders and insanity. But you must realize March Warden that little truth can be found in myth."

"I am bewildered," Haldir confessed, pacing agitatedly across the snowy floorboards.

"Then I shall be brief and frank with you," the Lady responded kindly. "I ask you to take into account two answers. The first of which suggests that the stories are true, that the myth has come alive, born from the madness of the elleth. That by night she rides through the countryside terrorizing peasants and killing for the mere sake of sating her blood lust. The second abandons the myth. Perhaps it is that Amanthoniel is the only one here that is true to herself. That she is nothing other than what you are, my Captain, though she goes about her business in a different fashion under my orders. That she helps rather than harms our cause under the guise of a crazed minstrel."

Haldir clenched his fist, his mind at war with his emotions.

"For you must realize, my dear Captain. Legends are a queer thing and those that inspire are, shall we say immortal? And not in the same sense as we the First Born know immortality. Even if she were slain by your bow I do not doubt she would continue to live. Alive in the whispers that pierce the night, in the hidden strains of fable that float on the wind. All the power and might of this Earth may not quell it, nor do I wish it to. It is then Haldir that we must learn to let go. Yes, she does ride about the countryside, singing and indulging in _innocent _mischief, not blood lust. And if this is her manner of protecting our wood and doing her duty, then so be it. I have learned that I cannot extinguish her fantastic nature. I let Amanthoniel go, as long as she does no harm though others claim she has."

He stood still know, barely able to draw breath as the weight of her words seemed to crush him.

"The choice is yours March Warden." Galadriel turned towards the door. "You alone can end the tale."

The swish of her silken skirts announced her exit from the room. The Captain forced himself to stand by the window, ceasing his incessant pacing. The air was thick with intrigue, mystery and the remnants of a broken story that lay shattered on the forest floor as Amanthoniel laughed and joked merrily with her men. The illusion had fled, as if the murky smoke lifted from about the fire, showing the truth of the flames that danced within. Could it be true? Was it his feverish mind that created the fable, from the fragments of deluding dreams and whispers? But it was as the Lady said; he alone could give the tale the truth he saw fit. Yet is there a suitable ending for such a tale, a tale invoking pain and love lost, a tale that summoned the very core of his fears and his hopes. No, there could be no ending, no ending for the tale of the bard.

**The End**


End file.
